


As Time Goes By

by seaofolives



Series: As Time Goes By and Other Stories [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Ignis Scientia, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Gladnis Fanwork Bingo (Final Fantasy XV), M/M, POV Ignis Scientia, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: it's date night with gladio which gives ignis a great opportunity to test out his new cooking skills. being blind, though, he'll need some help.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: As Time Goes By and Other Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915984
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	As Time Goes By

**Author's Note:**

> for the gladnis fanworks bingo! 
> 
> prompts: formal event, world of ruin, link strike, first time, camping  
> month: february

“Right, grillʼs pre-heating.” 

Ignis catches the smoke as soon as he says that, the comforting scent of cooking wood, a different fragrance from the campfire, relaxing him into a smile. “Oak, just like I asked. You never fail to impress, Gladio.” 

“Right?” Even Gladio sounds impressed with himself. His bulk steps closer to his side of the working table. “So uh…what're we makinʼ tonight?” 

“Tonight,” he begins, stuffing his gloves in his back pockets. “I will be attempting to make a grilled steak, with corn, tomatoes and zucchini on the side.” 

“Oooh,” Gladio swoons. “Plus some red wine? Didnʼt tell me this was a black tie dinner.” 

“Weʼll forego the formalities for now, considering our circumstances,” he chuckles. “Besides, the recipe is quite simple.” 

“Nothinʼ so simple about that,” Gladio chuckles, deep enough for him to feel it at the base of his diaphragm. “Least of all if Ignis Scientiaʼs the man behind the grill. What do you need?” 

“Your eyes, for one.” He reaches outward to feel the bottles arranged in a row, like glassy soldiers awaiting their commands. 

“To…see or do you mean as…a secret ingredient?” 

He doesnʼt get the joke until the image of two cartoon eyes with amber irises on top of a steak flashes in his head. Itʼs disgusting but it makes him laugh. “For my first time cooking for you, I would prefer it not to end up in a disaster.” He pops the bottle, smells the olive oil, then feels for the little bowl under him before he pours a few circles in it. “Iʼll need you to mince some garlic. About 4 to 5 cloves will do. Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah. My landlady does it a lot.” The sound of a knife sliding on wood tells him that Gladio stands quite close. When he takes a furtive whiff to his left, he catches his spicy perfume just on top of his natural heat. That soothes him, as well. “Hey, sheʼs askinʼ if youʼve tried those pickled veggies she sent ya. Looking for some constructive criticism on it before she sells it for some extra cash.” He hears the garlic cloves getting squashed on the wood, their flimsy sleeves wrinkling and scratching the surface. 

“You mean constructive criticism that isnʼt _yes, it tastes good_?” He laughs with Gladio who chuckles more quietly. In embarrassment, perhaps. Heʼs moved on to the red wine vinegar, pouring carefully into the bowl. Gladioʼs knife starts hitting the wood. “I havenʼt had the chance yet, Iʼd been busy preparing food by the bulk for Cid again. Slide half of the garlic into this bowl once youʼre done.” 

“How small do you need ‘em?” 

“Small enough not to bite them but large enough so that they arenʼt mashed.” 

Gladio chops on for a little longer. “Mhm, this looks good.” He feels his hand hovering close to his in turns. “Right, done. What next?” 

“The rosemary. I brought a mason jar with me.” 

“All of it?” 

He nods, reaching with his palm. The stalks touch his skin, and he feels carefully for the leaves so that he knows which end to hold up and from which part to slide his fingers down. “Spot me.” 

“Uh, right. I mean, to your right.” He moves. “Keep going…can you lower your—yeah, youʼre good.” 

“Thank you.” He starts to shed the leaves. They stick a little to his fingers but itʼs all part of the job. “Then add some salt and pepper, enough to cover half the first joint of your little finger.” 

“You really use that kinda measurements to cook?” Bottles are tapping each other as Gladio searches for the seasonings. 

“Well, _you_ donʼt know how to cook, and I cannot guide you the way I would have when I still had my sight,” he explains. The shaking comes, first one and then the next. “And this is why youʼre helping me now. A fork, please?” He sets aside the barren stalks of rosemary, holds out his left hand. The cold tin of a tiny fork meets his fingers. He mixes the bowl with it, first slowly then fast enough to whisk with confidence. 

Gladio hums, drawing closer to his shoulder, his heat warming up his back. “Dunno if Iʼm exaggerating but that smells good.” 

“Itʼs the rosemary,” he tells him, lifting the bowl to his nose to sniff the aromatic concoction. “And the garlic. This will smell better once poured.” He puts it down on the table and dips his little finger onto the oily surface to taste. Fragrant, tangy and sour, a little salty for his taste but good enough. It would be difficult to repair this without ample confidence on his fledgling skill. “Good,” he declares it. “Have a taste for yourself.” 

Warm skin touches his hand. He lets the rough grip move it gently back to the mix until his little finger sinks past the surface. Soft lips wrap around his middle joint, wet and warm like the tongue that laps along his fingertip. It makes him smile brightly. “Thatʼs unhygienic.” 

“Tastes great, though,” Gladio chuckles. He doesnʼt let go until he wipes his finger clean in a damp towel. “Now what?”

“The star of the night.” He sets the bowl away and reaches outwards again until he catches the plump slab of meat by his fingers. He brings it to his tabletop. “Get a new bowl and mix the remaining garlic and about a teaspoon and a half of paprika in it. Then some salt and pepper.”

“How much?” 

“Just enough to taste.” A deep pause… 

“Okay, how—” 

“Half the first joint of your little finger, but a little closer towards the tip.” 

“…o-kay…” 

In little time, Gladio passes the bowl towards him, his warm palm guiding his left hand to feel the cool cheek of the ceramic bowl. Ignis puts it down on the table and scoops up a layer with his palm. “And then, Iʼll need you to put 1 tablespoon of canola oil in one bowl and another 2 in another bowl.” 

“So…3 tablespoons?”

“Yes, but make sure you separate the 1 from the 2.” He spreads the dry seasoning over the face of the flank, going over every side he could feel and grasp until the bowl runs empty. “When you are done, take a brush and glaze each side with the 1 tablespoon canola oil.” He cleans his hands on his apron in the meantime. 

“Damn, that looks good,” Gladio tells him with a low, rumbling voice that fills his ears and his chest somehow. Like a comforting thunder. The light plastic of the brush chinks against the rim of the bowl several times. 

“Now, the corn and the zucchini.” Ignis listens to their rolling arrival and catches them one by one with his right hand to set them aside. “Iʼll need you to do everything else from here.” He pulls a knife from in front of him, lines up a zucchini horizontally and slides his left fingers along its smooth length, until he has the map of its measurements in his head. He cuts it in half, his blade slipping sharply through its crunchy meat onto the wood, rearranges the separate parts to dance his fingers along their stunted size again before he splits them sideways in half. 

“Oooh, perfect measurement.” 

Ignis grins, moving them towards Gladio. “By now, I should have at least perfected that.” He takes the other part and the last zucchini to perform the same operation. 

“So how do you do it?” Gladio shifts his bulk. His voice is quiet to match the air, only slightly louder than the crackling wood. “Is it like muscle memory or your imagination?” 

“A bit of both,” Ignis shares. He moves on to the corn, making like a worm with his fingers as he measures them in three parts, before he presses his blade onto their tougher meat. “I know what they look like. From there, it is simply supplying my imagination with their actual feel.” He sets his knife aside once he is done and runs his hands over the chunks heʼs made, pressing lightly as he goes. 

“And what are you doing?” 

“Making sure everything is evenly chopped,” he reveals. “Iʼll need you to take the two tablespoon canola oil and brush it on these pieces, as well as the cherry tomatoes. Donʼt forget the salt and pepper.” 

“To taste?” 

He smiles at the bright tone. “Indeed.” 

The air snaps. “Iʼm getting the hang of this.” That suave voice sounds impressed with himself. 

“Lovely! Then perhaps next time, you can do me the honor of cooking our dinner.” He moves around his bulk, touching him lightly on the leather of his jacket to map their distance. 

“M, maybe not that fast…” 

Closer to the grill, he feels the touch of its heat on his cheeks, its smoke a cloying invitation to delve into better times. Gladio warns him to be careful as he reaches for it, feels the hot air wrapping around his fingers, like memories to draw him in. 

“Time for the real test, Gladio.” Ignis steps back. “Take the steak, and lay it down carefully onto the middle of the grill. You know how you like your steak, of course?” 

“I know what it _looks_ like, if that means anything.” His footsteps move along the rock ground, first one way and then the other. “Right, here I go.” 

The hiss is immediate, like the grill whispering, _yesssss_ at the tribute of meat upon its fire. The air turns savory and warm, a phantom juice filling Ignisʼ mouth as he waves it closer to him. 

“Ohhh yeahhhh,” Gladio drawls deeply. He feels his thick arm snake along his back, pulling him in with a careful tug which puts his bearded cheek right where Ignis wants it for a kiss. “I know weʼre not yet done but Iʼd say: weʼve still got perfect synchronicity, you and I.” 

“A perfect link-strike,” he chuckles, “as Prompto will call it.” 

They wait 4 minutes for each side, the smoke filling them like an appetizer, their first reward for the night. “Weʼll let it rest under the foil for 5 minutes,” Ignis instructs again after he tells Gladio to remove it from the fire, following a few visual checks. “Put the corn in next.” 

“How do I know when theyʼre done?” The hissing returns, rising and dying for every part that hits the grill. 

“They ought to be charred and tender on all sides. They will take long,” Ignis cautions him, moving along their working station, a hand sliding on the smooth edge until his toes hit an obstruction. There he crouches down, cupping the air for the textured surface of the plastic cooler which he soon unlocks and flips open. “So weʼll wait 3 minutes and join the zucchini with them, then another 3 for the tomatoes.” Cool air teases his cheeks. “That way, we can bring them all out together.” He feels gently along the ice until he lands upon a slender neck wrapped under a foil and brings it out. 

“So I just keep flippinʼ ‘em?” 

“Just keep an eye on them,” Ignis tells him, putting the bottle on the table to comb through its foil so as to rip it. From the air, he shapes his dagger and pierces through the cork, then brings the base to his side so he can twist the bottle free from it. “If they start to blacken on one side, turn them on the other.” 

“Got it, chief.” 

“But in the meantime…” He catches himself smiling as the cork pops free. Puts it down on the table with his knife to search for their tin mugs so he can fill them, using the sound of the trickling to measure them. A fruity bouquet emerges, seemingly out of thin air. “I think we can get started.” 

“Mm, I like the sound of that,” Gladio chuckles, light steel hitting wood. “We got the steak resting, the wine flowing…you know what else we need?” 

“Hm?” Gladio is soundless for a moment. 

Then a phantom piano plays out of nowhere, riding a rhythm familiar to him in his youth, those lazy weekend afternoons with the radio on. He breaks out in a giggle and a laughing smile. 

“My, I didnʼt realize you are quite fond of this song,” he teases him, cheeks tight with his beam. A warm hand slides and spreads upon his back to nudge him closer, another one carrying his hand to a broad shoulder. He brushes his thumb lightly on the leather as Gladio hangs his long arms heavily along his back, and guides him side to side for a sway. “Brings back memories?” 

“Of my dad and my mom before Mom moved to Accordo,” Gladio reveals in an attractive croon. “Every weekend, they would dance like this in the music room before they converted it to Irisʼ nursery.” 

“Iʼd be delighted to pick up after their steps.” Ignis lays his fingers on Gladioʼs cheek, feeling the layer of hair on his skin as they reach out and meet in a kiss. Velvety, warm, gentle and delicious, the taste of salt at the tip of his tongue. “As long as the vegetables donʼt burn.” 

“Vegetables wonʼt burn on my watch, Ignis,” Gladio assures him. “Besides: you must remember this,” he begins to advise him according to the song. “A kiss is still a kiss, and a sigh is just a sigh…” 

“My, what lovely narrating voice you have,” Ignis teases him. 

“The better to rap to you, yeah?” They snicker together at his poor performance, putting their foreheads onto each other. “And when two lovers woo,” he goes on, anyway. “They still say—”

“—‘I love you,ʼ” Ignis cuts in. “On that you can rely…” He sings the last word softly, pitch rising shyly. “No matter…what the future brings.”

“As time goes by…” Gladio finishes for him, mumbling the words between his lips. 

Still, they make Ignis smile. As sweet promises were wont to in these dark times. “I reckon if we use this song as a timer, we can put the zucchini in now.” 

“Yeah,” Gladio chuckles, pulling his arms free, releasing Ignis back into the cool night. “Iʼm there.” 

Ignis follows him to the grill, but only so he could wrap his arms around his thick waist, press himself to the heat of his strong back, his cheek upon the arch of his shoulder. He breathes him in—spice, smoke, leather, some sweat from the cooking. 

He groans. “Now I see why you enjoy doing this to me. Itʼs quite comforting.” He squeezes him, pulls him in like a hard pillow. 

“What is it they like tʼsay? You either die a hero or live long enough to be a villain,” Gladio teases him in snickers. 

Ignis swats him but does not let go. “Donʼt forget the zucchini.” 

“I got this, Ignis. You just hang on to me like a baby.” Gladio gets swatted again for that. 

They spend the rest of the cooking time like this, surrounded by arms, swaying, dancing. Gladio replays the song when it ends too soon, breaks down in spiraling laughter with Ignis which earns him a punch on his shoulder, before Ignis reclaims it with his cheek. 

“So? How does it look?” he asks when they finally cut through the steak after the vegetables had finished. 

“Uh…” Foil crinkles. Ignis catches the aroma from the meat again. “Itʼs pink in the middle but…not completely. Like thereʼs a margin of uh…between the skin and the pink, thereʼs a margin—” 

“Thatʼs good enough for us,” Ignis laughs. “Iʼll bring the wine to the fire.” 

“Cool, Iʼll just plate ‘em up and drizzle the olive oil dressing…” 

He makes himself comfortable on the ground, waiting patiently until Gladioʼs boots scrape along the rock, and the man grunts as he fills the space to his right, bringing with him the aroma of spices and meat, charred sweetness and his comforting odour. Old songs still play quietly near them. 

Ignis tilts himself forward, waving the air to his nose. “My, that smells wonderful.”

“Bet itʼll taste even better.” The blade edge slides on cast iron. Gladioʼs calloused fingers soon touch his chin, featherlight, just enough to set the distance for him and signal his mouth to open. “Just the steak for now.” 

Heat touches his tongue, breaks out in delectable juice, smoky and sour filling his mouth as the tender meat breaks easily under his teeth. He catches hints of spice, herbs and garlic. The kick is satisfying, the idea of a second bite delightful. 

It makes him smile with joy. “Thatʼs beautiful, Gladio. A perfect romantic dinner.” 

“A perfect link-strike,” Gladio chuckles. They tap their mugs, then that heavy hand puts itself along the back of Ignisʼ neck. Another of his signals. 

This time for a kiss. “Hereʼs to us, Ignis.” It makes him smile. Who would have thought they could still find the time for a rare celebration of their love? Amidst all the hopelessness, all the burdens they carried… 

But sometimes, like salt to meat, a little light goes a long way. “To us, Gladio.”

**Author's Note:**

> i almost titled this _for old time's steak_ or _as thyme goes by_ but i predicted that future me would roast past me if i did that so i didn't. also i wanted to incorporate old songs in wor!gladnis again bc i just really like doing it?? idk what it is with wor and classic 50s songs that make me go hnnghh. the title comes from a frank sinatra classic btw
> 
> also is there a gladnis cookbook zine out there?? i am Seeking lmao. btw, recipe comes from [here](https://damndelicious.net/2018/07/05/grilled-flank-steak-and-vegetables/)! (i have never so much as cooked a zucchini my whole life) 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! o///


End file.
